Beneath The Dirt
by Tbuddah
Summary: AU: Regina, mayor of Storybrooke is kidnapped then tortured. When she escapes she aids in the investigation to find her abductor with the help of Detective Robin Locksley. Mild description of torture and sexual assault. I don't own them.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

She won't beg, refuses to. She has heard him with the other girls, heard him beating them. Their screams permeate the bars and the cold grey walls until she can hear their crying, their tears, and their pleas. They plead for him to do anything else, beg him to stop hurting them, and that is when it gets quiet, well not quite. The screams turn into whimpers, painful sounds, and grunts as he forces himself on them, rapes each girl, fucks them like he owns them, and that is what he whispers to them while he is doing it. At least, she thinks that is what it sounds like from where she is chained to the wall.

He has her in a center room. When she looks out the narrow window of bars she can see other rust covered bars, other rooms like hers across a narrow hall. Everything is cement or concrete, everything is dark and dank, and at the very end of the hall, when she is able to peer just enough, a step comes into view at the edge of her vision. They are below ground, a basement perhaps, she doesn't know, but it doesn't really matter. She doubts he'll let her live long enough to find out.

As it turns out, she does find out. She won't beg, and even though she is bludgeoned and bloody, she refuses to break to his will, would rather die than beg him to rape her. He hates her for it, loathes her, and she sees the anger in his eyes, glistening black as night. He'll kill her either way so she won't give in. She won't beg so he doesn't want her. He can't break her, so he'll just kill her now, and when he removes her from the dingy room, guides her from the dark cell through the dark hall past the others, toward the stairs. She knows what is next.

The steps trip her as he shoves her forward. Her knee scraping against the edge, her skin breaking, pulling apart, and her blood dripping from that top step, the step that brings her to the surface, to a door that he pushes her through. The cold night air feels like a slap on her skin, and a balm to her lungs. It doesn't matter that it is cold, it doesn't matter that she is freezing, being dragged over the ground in merely her underwear, all that matters is that she can take a breath of air that doesn't smell of death, that doesn't weigh her lungs down with scent of sweat, grime, and blood.

She is walking a foot ahead of him, hands tied at the wrists in front of her. A dark branch trips her, and she falls to the soil and moss with a gasp, the blood soaking her knee mixing with dirt, creating a red mud that sticks to her skin. He tells her to get up, tells her to rise in the same voice that has been telling her; 'I own you Regina', 'you are mine Regina', 'so beautiful', 'tell me you want me Regina', 'this can all stop if you beg me to'. The same voice that has been filling her ears with nothing but screams and agony for the last week. She thinks it has been a week.

She takes this chance. Lifts the long branch in her hands, and it is dark, she can hardly see in the light from his small flashlight, but neither can he. The bark collides with the side of his head. Her hands and wrists thrum and ache immediately from the impact, but she doesn't think, doesn't have a moment to dwell on the pain before she is turning and running. At some point she drops the branch. It falls to the ground barely making a sound. Just like he had. At some point adrenaline takes over, carries her from that spot in the woods to this gravel road.

Her mind is catching up. The pain in her body, the cold wind that gusts against her bare skin, she starts to feel it all as she walks this gravel road. It is all a blur after that. White lights, people shouting, she remembers dropping to her knees again, this time on the gravel, the small stones digging and cutting into her flesh. More lights, more voices, and then she feels warmth. A fuzzy blanket she thinks. It tickles her sensitive skin. After that she doesn't know what happened, can't picture anything else.

She wakes, opening her eyes to harsh lights, a steady beeping, but only one eye actually opens. Lifting her hand to her face she can feel the swollen cheek, the gash above her eyebrow from his ring meeting her face, his fist colliding with her eye. She feels like she is suffocating, air streaming in and out of her lungs in heavy puffs until people are surrounding her, talking to her with comforting voices, saying her name, but she doesn't want to hear it. She never wants to hear her name again. The sound of it reminds her of him, reminds her of the way he twirled it along his tongue each time he said it. Like using her name made him her god, and she hates the sound of it now, thinks she probably always will.

The next time she wakes up the lights are dim, the beeping still constant and irritating to her ears. It is an endless parade of nurses and orderlies and doctors to check on her. They tell her of her injuries, like she doesn't know of them already, like she didn't suffer through each one, doesn't remember it in glaring detail. The words they speak are meant to comfort; 'you'll be fine Miss Mills', 'your ribs will heal', 'the wound required stitches, but shouldn't scar too badly'. They go on and on, telling her how she is, but never asking what happened. She waits, sitting on her hospital bed, staring out the window, and she isn't sure what she is waiting for; death, life, the inevitable questions.

The questions come the next day. She has been in the hospital for three days. Woke up for the second time yesterday afternoon and hasn't slept a wink since. The sun is bright in the sky this morning, streams of light flooding into her room, and its comforting after spending days in the darkness. He taps lightly at her door. The action is unnecessary, the door is hanging wide open. She doesn't want it shut, started to panic when a nurse closed it last night. He is tall, muscular, with hair a mixture of blonde and light brown. His eyes pierce her, and she finds that odd, peculiar since he has only been looking at her for a moment. She already feels like he sees all of her. They are blue, maybe a tint of green too, and they crinkle slightly with his smile. The grin on his face is kind, thoughtful, different from the hospital employees with their sympathetic smiles and pitiful looks.

She is so busy staring at him, observing, she misses his greeting, doesn't realize he has said a word until the smile turns down and his brow furrows in concern.

"Miss Mills? Are you alright? Should I call for a doctor?"

"No," she practically shouts, she is tired of the endless stream of caregivers tending to her, "no," she repeats more calmly, "and it is Mayor Mills."

He smiles again then. His concern seemingly alleviated by her response. He has dimples she notices, and it bothers her that she notices at all, bothers her that she can't seem to tear her eyes from him. He is handsome, but she can't bring herself to care, now more irritated by his presence. She just wants to be alone.

"Who are you?" She can't hide the annoyed exasperation in her voice, but in all fairness, she doesn't try.

He takes a step closer while pulling something from his back pocket, metal reflecting from his hand. "I'm Detective Locksley, Robin if you like, and I'm here to ask you a few questions about your," he pauses, unsure of what to call it, "ordeal."

Regina scoffs, then looks down at the blanket strewn across her lap, the abrasive material clenched in her fists. She knew this was coming, the questions. "Well Detective," she looks up, meets his eyes, "what took you so long?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

He takes slow strides toward her hospital bed, cautious, tentative, and Regina finds she appreciates his approach. Out of that cellar she still feels like a caged animal, always on edge, jumpy, overly alert, but something about this man, this detective puts her at ease. He is standing beside her, and she finds her eyes drawn to him. She observes his calm demeanor, his muscular form beneath a snug green thermal and vest, jeans. He doesn't dress like a detective, at least not like any she has ever seen. She watches him for several moments, his piercing gaze fixes onto the small table next to the bed, to the crayon colored and carefully folded piece of paper.

Henry made it for her, colored two stick figures holding hands, one tall with black hair and bright red lips, and one short with a sandy brown mop on his head. 'I Miss You Mom' is scrawled across the top in the same red as her lips, followed by a 'Love Henry' in green. Zelena was kind enough to bring it along when she visited yesterday, after Regina found herself awake and alert for the second time.

"You have a son?" Robin questions, his calloused fingers caressing the edge of her gift. He looks at it like she does, his eyes soft and proud, like this one small work of art is a masterpiece far more precious than any other, and she finds herself wondering about him, wondering why he has that look of pride. As it is, she doesn't have to wonder long.

"I have a boy of my own." He smiles, pulling a chair from the wall closer to the side of her bed, only leaving enough space for his legs to fit between the edge of the cushion and her mattress as he lowers himself. His face is beaming with pride now, his smile lifting, dimples showing at the mention of his boy. "Roland, and he is quite a handful sometimes." He says these words, but the grin on his face says he loves the boy more than life itself, even when he is a 'handful'.

Regina finds herself smiling in return. She can't seem to help it, the look in his eyes, the way they crinkle, it causes her lips to lift at the corners. "I do have a son," she responds, her gaze moving from his to that very special piece of art. Then her smile disappears, she can feel her brows knit together. The action, this small expression, pulls at her skin, causes a throbbing pain in her swollen flesh until she relaxes, tears stinging her eyes, "and I miss him."

She clears her throat, takes a noticeably large breath before meeting his eyes again, concern and understanding coloring his features. "Of course. He hasn't been to visit you?"

She scoffs at that, lifts her hand toward her face touching the battered tissue around her eye. The swelling is better than yesterday. She can actually open the eye today, but she still looks a mess, knows that she is a frightening sight, and although she misses Henry, she will not let him see her like this, refuses to give him nightmares about how she came to be covered in bruises and cuts with a cast on her wrist and so many other injuries unseen below her hospital gown and blanket.

"Ah," Robin whispers, comprehension filling his expression, "I was informed that your injuries are healing well." He scoots forward on the chair, closer to her, his voice quieter than previously, "and I have some experience with, well, lets just say I've had a few black eyes in my day, and the swelling tends to go down after a few days. I'm sure you'll be entertaining your son again soon."

She smiles at this. The way he minimizes her injury to a simple black eye, like she had participated in a brawl in a dark alley rather than been beaten and tortured until she passed out from the pain. She likes it, appreciates it, because everything reminds her of the man that took her, everything reminds her of that terrible place, and for once she doesn't see the vivid picture of his fist meeting her face, doesn't hear his voice in her ear, instead, she finds herself wondering how this detective may have found himself with a black eye of his own.

"I hope so, Detective Locksley." She knows what he is doing, recognizes these tactics for what they are, a way to make her comfortable, a way to get her to open up. Regina prides herself on being a strong woman, powerful and smart. She made it through law school as one of the top in her class and became the mayor of Storybrooke without much competition, no one could ever really compete with her. She doesn't need him to handle her with kid gloves, doesn't need his placating words no matter how much they actually do put her at ease. "Do you have some questions for me Detective, or is this just a social call?"

He smirks, almost laughs before responding. "Cut right to the chase, then? Alright," he sighs, pulls a notepad and pen from his vest pocket, "can you please tell me what you remember of your abduction with as much detail as possible."

She gulps, an audible thing, a sign of weakness she thinks, then pushes that thought to the back of her mind. That is what her mother would have said, and her mother has been dead for years, that woman's thoughts have no place in Regina's mind, not anymore. Her voice comes out quiet, but he doesn't complain, seems to hear her just fine, and she tells him everything, everything she remembers anyway.

She was driving home from a visit to Boston. A political fundraiser, something she abhors, but is a necessity when you are a small town mayor. It was dark and late, the long road to Storybrooke nearly abandoned of traffic, she had just passed Portland. She hadn't seen another car for several minutes, and she tells the detective how she should have known better, should have thought more of it, but when she saw the flashing red and blue lights in her rear view mirror, she didn't question it for a second, simply pulled to the side of the quiet road flanked by woods on either side. She tells him how the man had flashed a light in her eyes, asked for her identification and vehicle registration, but as soon as she turned to reach for her clutch, something came around in front of her face, heavy hands gripping her head and hair, holding her as the scent of chemicals flooded her senses. She never saw his face, well, not until later.

"He was impersonating a police officer?" Robin questions, verifying that he understands her story thus far.

"Yes. I never saw a badge." She states, staring at the waffle texture of the blanket strewn across her lap. "I should have tried to see a badge." She whispers, more to herself than him, but it doesn't stop his response.

"You did nothing wrong, Regina," he says, and she never gave him permission to call her that. She asked that he call her Mayor Mills, but this is the first time she has heard her name spoken since this whole ordeal and not wanted to fall apart. The first time her name doesn't bring bile to her throat at the very sound of it, so she doesn't correct him. "This was not your fault." He is adamant, determined with the way his voice comes out strong and stern. Of course she already knows this, knows that it wasn't her fault, that she couldn't control what happened, but somehow that makes it harder.

His hand reaches to the table beside her, grasping a cup of water, a blue straw swaying casually in the fluid as he hands it to her. After a sip or two, she isn't sure how many, she just needed a moment to organize her thoughts, her memories, she continues her tale. His eyes meet hers, she reclines against the pillow propped behind her, and she tells him of how she woke up. Her head was pounding, nostrils still burning with chemicals, and her lungs had heaved in a coughing fit which brought her completely from a drifting unconsciousness to full awareness. She remembers the cold concrete, the damp floor, and how the moisture clung to her skin and her dress when she tried to lift her body from the floor. She tells him about the chains that bound her to the wall, each wrist aching from the weight of metal dragging on the joint. The chain was about two feet long, gave her space to stand and reach the door and bars that she could peer through, and the room was small, the size of a closet.

"What kind of chains were they?" He pulls her from the memory.

Regina furrows her brow in confusion before she remembers the pain caused by such an action and relaxes her features once more. "Does it matter?" She asks, her voice tight and irritated.

Robin stops writing in his notepad, looks up again to meet her eyes and leans forward, "actually it could. Humor me?" He pleads so she does. Tells him that the chains were like any chain; oval in shape, metal, an inch or so long, and twisted.

"Twisted?" He asks curiously, still leaning closer to her, resting his notepad and hands on the mattress beside her.

"Yes." She responds, doesn't see the importance in the detail. "Each link was an oval that had been twisted, bent maybe, at a forty-five degree angle."

He nods, jots something down, "Alright, continue please." He isn't looking at her, his pen dancing across the paper in front of him, and she isn't sure what possesses her, perhaps she is just curious, wants a distraction.

"Where are you from Detective?" His pen stops, and his stubble covered chin lifts, a smirk drawing his cheeks into those stunning dimples, and she suddenly regrets having asked. She diverts her eyes from his, but returns to his gaze a moment later, she has no reason to cower. "Your accent," she elaborates. He nods, opens his mouth to say something before thinking better of it and closing it in a tight grin, and she thinks there is a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Shall we play a game?" He asks, and she feels her body tense nervously, unsure of what he has in mind. "I will answer any questions you have of me as long as you answer mine in kind. Nothing is off limits." Robin leans back in the chair, the cushion flattening against his weight as Regina sucks in her bottom lip and narrows her eyes.

"I'm already answering your questions Detective." She states, trying to gauge the man across from her.

"So you have nothing to lose then. Do we have a deal?" He questions, and she responds with a simple nod letting her lower lip slip from her teeth as she pulls the blue straw in her mouth for another sip of water.

"I am from England, London, or Ilford, a town in London to be exact." A nostalgic look crosses his expression, his smile widens, and she can tell he misses his home, is fond of the place.

"Why did you leave?" She wants to know what could draw someone from someplace they clearly love. She was born and raised in Portland and has never had an inkling of leaving Maine. Storybrooke is the furthest she has gotten from her childhood residence. She loves it here, it has always felt like home, felt safe, until now.

"Not so fast." Robin shakes his head, leans forward again. "I answered your question, now its my turn." He says it in a way that is cautious, a look in his eyes that asks if this is alright even though she has already agreed. He won't hold her to it, she can tell, and he is trying to let her know that, but she's never been one to back down from a challenge.

"Shoot." She smiles, her voice strong, and even covered in bruises she can still pull off her mayor's mask.

"How old is your son?" He asks, then leans forward, elbows on the mattress, his notepad and pen forgotten atop the blanket. He catches her off guard, mask slipping before she can steady her features. She had expected another question about what happened to her, not something personal, but they did say everything was fair game so she answers.

"He is eight. I adopted him as a baby." Her eyes find the card Henry had made for her, and a smile pulls at her lips when she thinks of him coloring away. He loves to color. "And Roland? How old is he?" She slips to her next question immediately, tries not to notice the way Robin's gaze has warmed as he watches her think about her son.

"Roland is four, just turned last week in fact. It was quite the celebration." He smiles, his eyes crinkling with delight, but her mouth turns down now. Last week he and Roland were celebrating. Last week Henry was playing with his cousin while Zelena kept the news of Regina's abduction to herself, not wanting to upset the boy. Last week she was screaming and bleeding and praying that Henry never know what happened to her.

He notices the change in her demeanor, the darkness settling in her expression, but he doesn't try to push her from it, doesn't try to console her. He simply proceeds with his next question, a question that lines up directly with her thoughts, "What happened next? After you woke up chained to the wall?"

She describes the cell in as much detail as possible. There was no light in the rooms the girls were held in, at least, there was no light in hers, and the only light she saw was from the hallway where the steps met the floor. She tells him how it smelled, how it felt, tells him of the bowl of water on the floor, she assumed was for drinking, and how by the third day that is exactly what she did. Robin listens, intent on every word, scribbling in his notebook, and then she tells him about the others.

When the man wasn't there, how they would talk, whisper to one another, listen to each other crying. One was named Vanessa and one Sarah. It was only the two of them there, but they told her there used to be more, at least two others, a girl named Rachael, and a girl named Denise. Vanessa was only there the first day. She tells Robin how the other woman begged the man, her voice hoarse from screaming, and then after he finished with her, the man dragged her up the stairs. Regina could see her in the dim light as they ascended that first step, her long blond hair blanketing her face.

"He dragged her. Her body was limp, completely limp." She says to Robin, describing the moment she was certain she wouldn't leave that cell alive. "She must have been dead already." Tears sting her eyes, and Regina bites the inside of her cheek, tries to relax and release the tension in her face, taking deep breaths.

"My wife." Robin says, his gaze pinned to her.

"What?" She asks, confused, wiping away the one traitorous tear that escaped down her cheek.

"Your question earlier. I moved here after I met my wife. She grew up here, in Portland, and wanted to raise our family here." Regina is reminded of how far from her home she actually is. Although she always loved Portland, spent her childhood in this city, Storybrooke has been her home for over a decade and she is still miles away, had miles to travel that night before everything changed. His voice pulls her from these thoughts, back to him, back to the here and now. "Now that she is gone," his eyes haven't left hers, still holding her gaze even with the grief she can see coloring his expression, "I want to raise our boy here, like she wanted."

"I loved growing up here. Roland couldn't ask for better." She smiles appreciatively. She surmises that this is all tactic, efficient detective training. They must teach how to question a witness, how to distract them when they are about to break down, how to get them to say everything they don't want to say. Either way, whether it is just Robin being friendly, or his training, she is grateful.

A smile filled with fatherly pride lifts his lips, and she thinks this is probably the biggest smile she has seen on his face, a face that seems to be smiling a lot, a face that draws her eyes far too much. "My turn again?" He asks, clearly talking about their game, the end of his pen finding its way between his teeth as he thinks, contemplates his next question. "What is your favorite food, Regina?"

Again her name leaves his mouth, and again the sound of it doesn't make her cringe, instead she smiles, even laughs a little, just a small thing, hardly noticeable, but his grin grows wide when he hears it. "Honestly?" She looks at him, questions whether this is a serious question he wants answered, and he nods. "Well," she tilts her head in thought, "pancakes." With that answer it is Robin that laughs in response, a full deep laugh that causes a shiver to run through her body and has a heat building low in her belly. He tells her how he never would have guessed that, he pictured her more of a lobster type, and that pancakes are really just a variation of cake, but he can understand her adoration.

One question, she has one question left before they'll be delving back into her own personal recollection of hell, and she figures they did say nothing was off limits. Maybe part of her doesn't want to be the only one suffering from painful memories, she thinks that must be why she asks this particular question, "What happened to your wife?"

The smile that had adorned his face, still thinking of pancakes no doubt, drops immediately. He swallows, audibly, the column of his throat expanding and retracting as Regina fixes her eyes on the man still leaning toward her. His eyes flick away and then back to her, and she almost stops this, almost move forward with her tale, but just as she opens her mouth, noise comes from his.

"It was a car accident. A drunk driver." He looks down to the notepad laying between his elbows, sets the pen beside it. "It was the middle of the day. She was driving home from the grocery store with Roland. He was one, and I was called to the hospital. I...I didn't realize. I mean, it didn't sink in that she was gone. I just held my boy, and well," he pauses, sighs, "that is what happened to Marian." When he looks up at her again, Regina fears that she'll see anger, resentment, but his eyes are tender and open. His eyes are glistening, a fine sheen that makes them seem even bluer, even brighter, and then he is asking her the next question.

"What happened after he left with Vanessa? What happened to Sarah?"

She takes a deep breath, sets her cup of water on the table and fidgets with her blanket. She tells Robin how the man hadn't entered her cell yet. How she had only heard him, listened to him hurt the others, but her yells, her screams and questions went unanswered. A dark figure casting shadows in the hall, that was all she saw of him until he had taken Vanessa. When he returned, he cleaned, and the smell of bleach wafted around her, made her dizzy, made her cough and her lungs burn. That was the first time the man came into her cell. After he washed Vanessa away, that is when he came to Regina. She tells Robin everything she remembers about that first visit. Tells him how the man cut her dress from her body with a knife, well technically a razor, a box cutter, and Robin has her describe it in detail before she continues.

She tells him how the man touched her, groped her breasts, placed his hands all over her, in her, and how he beat her when she tried to fight him, how he kicked her, and how he left her on the cold, wet concrete floor in her underwear, bleeding and moaning in pain. Sarah had tried to soothe her, and the memory of this brings tears to Regina's eyes once more. The woman in the other cell called to her, prayed for her, sang to her, and part of her still wonders if Sarah was even real, or if she was a guardian angel, but then, if that were true, why would Regina have been there at all?

"Do you remember any more details about either woman?" Robin asks, furiously scribbling away.

"Where is your favorite place?" His pen pauses, he looks up at her with a smirk.

"The forest." He states, not needing much time to contemplate. "Camping to be more specific, with my boy. Have you ever been?"

"Is that the question you want me to answer, or the one about Sarah and Vanessa?" She asks.

"Both, then you can ask an extra one of me." He responds with a smirk.

"I've never been camping. My mother," her voice turns cold at the mere mention of Cora, "she thought such activities were pointless, and well, my father," her voice lightens and a small smile pulls at her lips, "he wasn't much of an outdoorsman, loved horses though." That small smile beams when she thinks of her father, and their horses, and her lessons, and Daniel, and then the smile fades. Onto a different topic.

She looks at Robin, clears her throat and continues. She tells him any specifics about the other women she can remember, which is not much, but she did see both of their faces, or parts of their faces. The women were blocked by the bars and concrete that separated them, but she thinks she saw enough, might be able to describe them to a sketch artist, or recognize a missing person's photo. She finishes telling him of Sarah. How the other woman was there with her still only hours before her escape. He had come for Sarah, beat her, raped her, and then carried her through the hall, leaving a glistening dark trail of blood on the concrete floor. She thinks the blood was dripping from Sarah's hair, can't be certain, and once the man returned, once he cleaned and bleached, he came for her.

That is when he hit her face. When she wouldn't beg him, when she spit in his eye, he landed his fist in hers. She tells Robin of the ring that sliced the skin at her eyebrow, gives him as detailed of a description as she can. She thinks her ribs were broken earlier, probably when he kicked her during that first visit. Most of her bruises, cuts and scrapes came sometime in between. That last visit was dedicated to her face, then to groping her again, and when she still wouldn't beg with him, still wouldn't plead, well, he must have just hated her too much. She tells him about her name. Tells Robin how the man would say it over and over, how he would repeat the other girls' names as well, and how he seemed to get off on it.

"He knew your name? You didn't tell him?"

"I get three questions now," she smiles, " and no. I never told him my name. He just knew it." Robin nods at that, jots something down. She tells him about the march up the steps, the darkness of the surrounding woods that still seemed brighter than that cellar. Finally she tells him of her broken wrist, tells him how she can remember a crunching sound as the branch met the man's temple, and how everything else is a haze, running and breathing, running and breathing. Then the lights, the sounds, the gravel road, and the oblivion that took her until she woke in the hospital.

She lets him finish writing. There will be more questions, more detail needed, but she lets this quiet moment settle, allows the sound of pen rubbing against paper soothe her, calm her nerves. Then he leans back again, leaving the pen and pad beside her, and she likes that he is transparent with her, likes how she could read everything he has scribbled if she wanted to. She doesn't want to.

"Three questions, yes," he verifies, nods at her smile, answers it with one of his own, before parroting her earlier instruction, "shoot."

Regina finds herself unsure. Somehow, she wants to know far more about this detective than she thinks she should care about. She decides to play it safe, nothing too personal. "Why did you become a detective?"

"Well that is a rather boring story indeed." Robin states, the cool blue of his eyes finding the warmth of her brown. "My father worked in law enforcement, my grandfather before him. I guess you could say I was born into it. I must admit, I love it. I really think it is what I am meant to do."

"What is your greatest fear?" She barrels on. This man fascinates her, and listening to him talk, well, it pulls her from her own dreary thoughts and recollections.

"That is an easy one. Losing Roland. Something happening to him, something like what happened to Marian. I honestly don't know how I would cope if I lost him too." He shakes his head, frowns. "It isn't something I care to think about."

His eyes have lost their gleam as his mind travels a frightening path of 'what ifs', and she finds herself wanting to rescue him, comfort him from these thoughts, the same way he has done for her throughout his questions. She uses her next question to pull him from the dark place his mind dwells. "What is it you like about camping Detective? Do you enjoy bathing in the river and using pinecones for money?"

He laughs, a hearty deep sound that has her smiling in return, wide and bright. "I must say Regina, your mother has given you the wrong idea about camping. I love it because of the sounds, the smells, the sensations from a gust of wind or a ray of sun. Is it my turn now? I get to ask a question." She nods in response, her heart warmed by his description of his favorite place.

"Regina," his eyes sear into her's, "would you and your son consider coming camping with Roland and I? I would truly love to show you that bathing in the river is not required, and good old fashioned paper money and coins function fine if you need to make a purchase somewhere." He smiles kindly at her, a teasing expression coloring his features.

His question surprises her, but strangely enough, she considers taking him up on his offer. She has just met this man and is already contemplating a family vacation with him. Certainly there is something wrong with her, and it is this thought that has her declining his well worded invitation.

"I don't think so." She stiffens slightly, shaking her head, and leaning back into her pillow. She hadn't even noticed how close they were, how she had leaned forward, and he had rested his elbows on the mattress again, leaning her way. Suddenly, the comfortable atmosphere they both strove for throughout this questioning has become fraught with tension. It is Robin who breaks it, Robin who makes things comfortable again, or as close to comfortable as one can expect.

"Let me tell you what we know." He lifts the notepad and pen from her mattress, tucks both items back into his vest pocket. "You've shared what happened when this man abducted you, and now I want to tell you what has been happening here."

She already knows what has been happening here. She thinks back on the week, the birthday celebrations for Robin's son, the joyful playing between Henry and his cousin, and she can't bring herself to be anything but relieved knowing that life and joy and happiness can all go on even when she is suffering. All she wants now is Henry's happiness, and she really isn't sure if she can ever be truly happy again, if she can ever stop thinking of that man, prevent him from invading the back of her mind.

Robin continues speaking, "It was big news when you went missing. In all of the papers. A beautiful young mayor is abducted from her car on the side of the road, well, it made a lot of headlines." He shifts in the chair before continuing, "When you were brought to the hospital, it took the staff a couple of hours to identify you, but eventually, one of the nurses recognized your photograph from a news article. That is when I came into play. I arrived at the hospital yesterday morning, before you had woken, and then returned yesterday afternoon when you were awake." Regina nods, remembers the previous day, does not need him to rehash it all for her.

"Your doctor felt it was too early to question you at that point, which is why I returned today, but in the mean time, well," he lifts an index finger to his temple, scratching lightly while simultaneously biting his lower lip, "no one knows you are alive Regina. The press haven't gotten wind of your reappearance, and I spent all of yesterday and this morning trying to guarantee that they won't." Robin leans forward again, "You see Regina, right now we are at an advantage. This man, if he finds out you made it to safety, learns that you are alive and talking with police, helping in our investigation, he'll flee, and our chances of getting him become nonexistent."

"But he is bound to find out. The press are bound to find out. All of the staff in this hospital know, my son knows, my sister, and I already contacted my deputy mayor, Emma Swan. All of them know I am alive. How can you expect to keep it from getting out?" Regina is confused, alarmed, and a voice in the back of her head is telling her she never escaped, never left that place, and maybe this is all some personal hell.

"I've been in contact with Miss Swan, as well as your sister, and the staff of this hospital have been debriefed by my team." He shakes his head then, looks down, then back up, "I realize it may not work, but it is our best hope for catching this man before he cleans up and ditches any evidence that can be linked to him. I want to catch him Regina. I will catch him." There is a simmering anger in his tone as he finishes, his face is stern, and the blue of his eyes reminds her of the blue at the base of a flame. He is making her a promise, vowing to catch this man, and all he is asking of her is her cooperation, so she nods.

Robin returns the gesture. "The doctor said you can be released within forty-eight hours, and at that time I would like to place you somewhere temporary. Your son may join you, and you will both have round the clock police protection, but you'll need to stay under the radar. Phone calls are fine to Miss Swan and your sister, but no one else. It is vital you stay hidden."

"Where exactly do you expect me to stay Detective? I doubt the Portland Police are willing to fund my stay in a hotel." She is annoyed and it shows in her voice. She thinks this shouldn't be so upsetting, she should revel in the opportunity to step back and take some time to relax with her son, but really, this isn't that and they both know it.

"My department would put you in a safe house, a temporary dwelling," she doesn't let him complete the sentence.

"No. I will not tear Henry from everything he knows to stay in a safe house. He won't understand. I wouldn't even want him to have to try and understand that."

"Regina, there is another option, if you are willing." He is tentative, almost nervous when he says this, and Regina finds herself staring at him, mayor's mask in place, trying to make him as uncomfortable as she is with this whole situation, but it backfires. He straightens his back, seems to comprehend her method of intimidation exactly for what it is, and he reclines in the chair again, a smug smile lifting his lips. "You can either go camping with my son and I," she opens her mouth to interrupt, but he lifts a finger halting her, "or you can stay at our guest house. Those are your only options other than a safe house." He says it like he is scolding her, like she is a stubborn petulant child.

"Or I could just go home to my son, and forget all about helping you." Once those words leave her mouth, Regina surmises she actually is being stubborn and petulant, a realization that makes her grimace. This man killed at least two woman, she knows there were more, and if she can help bring this monster to justice she will. A defeated sigh leaves her lips, "I guess camping wouldn't be so bad." She says with a roll of her eyes. "I'm sure Henry would enjoy it." The words leave her mouth, but she can't seem to lift the scowl from her expression, frowning even more at the sight of Robin's bright grin and those dimples, those damned dimples.

"Well. I'll be your police protection then, unless I have to leave, at which time I will have my partner take over. You will not be left alone Regina, and we camp on my in-laws land, near a lake, it feels remote, but it really isn't. We will never be too far from civilization." He stands then, pushes the chair back across the floor. "I'll return tomorrow morning with a sketch artist from our department," he continues, walking slowly toward the door, "and Regina," he turns back, meeting her eyes, "your son will have to see you sometime. I promise you, he will not think you weaker because of that." He lifts a hand, gesturing toward her face, the marred flesh surrounding her eye. "Probably just the opposite."

She smiles, just a small thing. Today has been exhausting, and her eyelids feel heavy, but sleep is not something she welcomes, still, even as she watches Robin leave, a wave of his hand at the doorway, she can feel herself slipping into the darkness, the unconsciousness that will only bring her back to that place, back to that man.

Please take time to review and let me know what you think. Thanks for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

_This story has been coming to me quickly, but now we are coming up to my birthday and Thanksgiving so hopefully this update tides you over through the holiday week. :) Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading. All of the reviews, follows, and favorites are greatly appreciated!_

**Chapter 2**

Detective Locksley is anything if not punctual. A trait that surprises Regina, but is not unwelcome. When he arrives the next morning early, him and a young woman stepping into her room at 7:00 AM, she is grateful for the distraction. A fitful night of twisting and turning, sweating and panting, waking mid nightmare has her anxious and tired, eager for a diversion.

The woman can't be older than twenty-five and she has a red streak of hair anchoring her face, flowing with the rest of her long brunette locks. She is tall and pretty, her clothing a little risque for Regina's taste, but she looks presentable at least. A dark red messenger bag is strewn across her shoulder, and her hands carry two cups of what Regina assumes to be coffee.

"Detective Locksley," Regina greets, noticing he is dressed similar to yesterday, a tan thermal rather than green today, and she briefly wonders what he would look like dressed more formally, or less formally, scolding herself for the mental picture that travels through her mind at that thought, and the accompanying blush to her cheeks. "I didn't take you for a morning person. I'm surprised to see you so early."

He smirks, showcasing those dimples while striding towards her, lifting a cup of coffee he holds, offering it to her. "Well, you never asked me whether I was a morning person. Perhaps we'll need to play another round of questions today." She takes the hot cup from his hand, annoyed that the contact between their fingers sends a shiver through her body. "Get to know eachother better." His blue eyes meet hers and she smiles, welcomes the thought of getting to know him better regardless of the fact that he seems to simultaneously calm and aggravate her.

He gestures at the woman behind him, turns toward the girl inviting her further in the room with a smile. "This is Ruby. A starving artist that works with the department in her free time. She'll be sketching for us today."

Ruby scoffs at his comment, hands him one of the two cups she'd been holding. "Starving is the word for it, but I was promised breakfast." The brunette says while moving around the foot of Regina's bed and gracelessly plopping down in a chair beside the window.

"Ah, yes. I hope you don't mind." Robin states, lifting a large brown paper bag that Regina hadn't noticed until this moment. "I thought since it is rather early we could all enjoy some breakfast together before getting down to work." He sets the bag on the mattress, beside her leg. "Have you eaten yet?"

"No, I haven't, but I don't have much," she pauses as he lifts a styrofoam container from the bag and sets it on her lap, "of an appetite." She finishes, raising her eyebrows at his presumptuous behavior, relieved to find the expression does not hurt her swollen face like it did yesterday. He smiles, not even mildly deterred by her response, then places a plastic fork on top of the container, an action that causes her to release an aggravated sigh.

"I think you'll be able to stomach this." He winks at her, bites his lower lip before looking back toward the takeout containers in front of him, busying himself with the rest of the food. While he and Ruby sort out their respective breakfasts, she pops the lid open on the container in front of her, and tries to repress the chuckle and accompanying smile that follow. "I told you." He states, moving the same chair he utilized yesterday next to her bed before sitting and opening his own container which rests beside her hip on the mattress.

"Pancakes." She states, meeting his eyes, blue pools of amusement.

"Your favorite." He says, smiling broadly, clearly proud of himself for putting his newfound knowledge of her to good use.

She wants to be irritated with him, wants to be frustrated by his brazen demeanor, but all she can do is think about how long it has been since she had a pancake, and how good they smell. "Thank you." She says, breaking eye contact as the words leave her mouth. His response of 'your welcome' goes unacknowledged while she cuts and stabs at the syrup soaked meal in front of her.

He smiles, a small thing she can see from the corner of her eye before he lifts a forkful of eggs to his mouth, switching his gaze from her, to the food he quickly devours. Breakfast passes quickly, each of them scarfing down food in comfortable silence. Ruby finishes a bagel sandwich just as Robin takes his last bite of bacon, and Regina savors her sweet meal. She tries to make it last, finishing the last two bites slowly, letting them linger on her tastebuds before swallowing. Admittedly, she is trying to avoid the upcoming conversation, procrastinating, because she is not eager to discuss the things that happened days ago, the memory of a man that she still can't remove from her dreams, maybe never will.

Robin rescues her, saves her once again from her dreary recollections, the thoughts that pull at her, drown her. "You are looking well today. The swelling is almost gone." He states, observing her closely, a piercing scrutiny that makes her blush. It is true of course. She noticed during her last trip to the bathroom when her gaze found the mirror, but although the swelling has dissipated, unfortunately, she is now left with a discolored bruise encircling her left eye, draping almost the entirety of the side of her face in darkness.

"I don't know about well," she responds skeptically, "but yes, it is better." He nods, a kind smile curving his lips, those lips that keep drawing her eyes, those lips that he has a habit of pulling between his teeth, and she wonders what they would feel like between her own teeth. She needs to get ahold of herself, rein in her growing attraction to this man. Maybe it is some sort of psychological transference, maybe his magnetism can be explained away by her traumatic experience, that is what she tells herself anyway.

"Perhaps you'll consider having your son, Henry, to visit?" He asks, a hopeful lilt to his voice. "I don't see how anyone could be frightened away from your face, especially your own son."

Ruby interjects then. "Are you kidding? You're gorgeous, even with the," she waves her hand near her own cheek, an inelegant gesture, "bruise all over your face." Robin cringes at the other woman's wording, her brashness, but Regina finds it refreshing, honest, and likes that the brunette thinks she can pull off 'gorgeous' when she feels nothing but hideous.

"Ruby." Robin says, a tone of disapproval evident in his deep voice, a warning, but Regina interrupts, doesn't need him to shield her from the truth.

"No, its fine." She says, dismissing Robin's concern, her lips curving into an amused expression. "Thank you Ruby. I feel far from gorgeous, but it is good to know I can pull off battered and bruised stylishly." She turns her warm brown eyes back on Robin then, answering his earlier question, "Henry will be visiting today. I called my sister after your visit yesterday in fact, and she agreed to drive him over this afternoon." The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, not a wide smile like she has seen from him previously, but something small, something warm and kind, and the twitch of movement has her thinking far too much about his lips again, his mouth, his tongue before she uncomfortably clears her throat and looks back at the young woman near the window.

Ruby smiles at her. The girl's teeth bright white, lightening the entire room before she excitedly pulls a notepad and pencil from her messenger bag. "How about we get started? Robin tells me we have quite a few sketches to work on today."

Her eyes find his again, those blue orbs staring, questioning, and she finds it soothing how he seems to constantly be concerned about her feelings, her thoughts, but she figures he's been trained for this. He is used to working with witnesses. It is hard not to notice that she keeps referring to herself as a witness, even in her own thoughts, rather than victim, she can't see herself as a victim, it frightens her, the thought of it, the word itself, and she hates that it scares her to be considered such. She did nothing wrong, she survived, she is strong, why does that word frighten her so much?

"Yes," she responds, looking back toward the young brunette, "the sooner we begin, the sooner it will be over, right? Lets do it."

* * *

><p>Ruby sketches him first, the man, her abductor. The young woman asks Regina to close her eyes, pluck a moment, a picture from her memories and hold it, focus it. It was dark, so dark, and her eyes were almost always blurred with unshed tears, but Regina finds the best mental image she can, tries to tug it from the recesses of her mind, sharpen it. The curve of his cheek, angle of his nose, line of his mouth. She murmurs descriptions to Ruby with as much detail as she can, hates the fact that she can't give more, help more. His hair was short, but it wasn't black, and it wasn't blonde, rather some shade in between, maybe gray, and his eyes seemed dark, but everything was dark so she can't pin down a color no matter how hard she tries. They end up with a face she thinks is a good resemblance, hair style and facial hair similar to what she recalls, but the coloring is off, the age too, and Regina doesn't know how to help, how to make the image more accurate. They talk, Ruby erases, scribbles, shades, adds more lines, and by the end Regina isn't sure if a single feature is accurate or all a blend of her imagination, fact and fiction colliding.<p>

Ruby switches to a clean sheet of paper, prepares to begin the next sketch, and Regina can't help but feel disappointed, discouraged. Shouldn't she be able to do this? Yes, it was dark, but she thinks about every moment he came to her, how she was so certain she would never forget that face, how she still sees it vividly in her nightmares, but for some reason she can't convey it, can't grasp it and place it on the paper. Robin interrupts her downtrodden thoughts once again, and she is grateful for the disturbance.

"Regina, what about his age, his size, what can you tell me about that?" These details she remembers, can bring up clearly in her mind regardless of the darkness that always bathed her abuser.

"He was old," she begins, "I mean, not decrepit," she clarifies, "but older, mid fifties, maybe even sixty." She shakes her head, pulls the images forward again, closes her eyes. "I remember thinking I could try to overpower him. I'm young enough, in good shape, and if I hadn't been chained to that wall," she releases an angry sigh, she knows she can't change anything, she _was_ chained to the wall, that is how it happened, "well, I'm certain I could have at least had a fair chance then. Still, even though he was older, and not muscular, he was heavy, a large man. Probably at least six feet tall, and fat, mostly around the middle. He used his weight, his heft during the beatings." She thinks back to the times he beat her, his boot cracking her ribs, his fists pounding her torso, his hands grasping and pulling her hair while he dragged her body across the damp concrete, closer to him, groped her, violated her, all the time whispering her name, his breath moistening the shell of her ear. The memory makes her shudder, makes her face twist in disgust.

"Okay." Robin says, hand moving to grasp her's briefly on her lap, pulling her back to the present. "Thank you Regina, that is all very helpful." She nods, can't bring a smile, not even the mayor in her can draw a fake curve to her lips, so she returns her gaze to Ruby, tries not to whimper when Robin removes his hand from her's. He scribbles in the small notepad that sits next to her again, just like yesterday. The loss of comfort, loss of warmth and contact has her moving her own hand from her lap, setting it next to her hip on the mattress, and if her pinky lightly brushes his knuckles as his hand rests against the notepad holding his pen, well, she doesn't notice.

They focus on the other women next. Sarah comes to Regina's mind plainly, clearly. She saw that woman more than either Vanessa or her abductor. She is certain Sarah's hair was dark brown, flowing long, past the shoulders to the middle of the back. The younger woman appeared to be in her mid-twenties, but they never discussed specifics, only tried to comfort one another. Regina describes the other woman's face, the angular jaw, soft plump mouth, wide almond shaped eyes, and once she is finished, the sketch Ruby lifts from the table is alarmingly exact, like being below ground again, peering through those bars, trapped in that space.

The fear must be visible in her features because in the next moment Ruby lowers the sketch from her view, and Robin's hand settles over her's on the mattress. The sensation of warm calloused skin grazing her own brings her back to the present, away from the screams, the smells, the pain, and back to the man beside her. She meets his warm gaze, and he asks her to describe Sarah in a different way, not physically, but personally. He wants to know what they spoke of, what the woman was like, if there is anything in Regina's clouded memories to help identify the woman.

She tells them of how the brunette prayed for her, sang for her, talked with her. The younger woman had spoken of playing the piano, how she adored it, and her voice was soothing. Sarah had a talent for singing, the words flowing from the other woman's mouth brought peace to Regina even when she couldn't lift herself from the damp concrete floor, even when darkness would creep into her vision and pull her into unconsciousness. She can almost still hear the sound.

"What did she sing to you?" Robin's voice fills her ears, tumbling passed the phantom of Sarah's melody.

"Amazing Grace." Regina replies, "Always Amazing Grace." He removes his hand from her's again, but his wrist still makes contact with the tip of her finger as he writes, records what she has told him, and then Ruby draws her attention.

"Alright." The brunette says with a small smile. "Lets move on to Vanessa."

Regina fills in the same details for the blonde woman she knew as Vanessa. The sketch turns out accurate, not like Sarah's, not so accurate that it pulls her back to the moment, but close. Then they move on to objects; the man's ring, the box cutter he used to remove her clothing, but that is it, there is nothing else to go on. He never wore anything distinguishable, dark clothes, jeans usually, but nothing unique other than his ring, and even that Regina doesn't have a clear picture of in her mind.

It was dark. She has lost count of the number of times she has mentioned this detail. A detail which helps in no way other than alleviating her own worry, the worry that she cannot give them enough, cannot remember enough. The ring was metal, shiny, reflected what little light was available. It could have been yellow gold, could have been platinum, she doesn't know. It was large, gaudy, and resembled a graduation ring with a large stone in the center surrounded by engravings. She couldn't make out any words or symbols, only noticed the ring at all when it was colliding with her face, and luckily, or maybe not, everything had happened in slow motion. His hand appeared to move at a snail's pace, heading directly for her left eye, allowing her mind ample time to observe some details before the pain burst through her nerve endings, her face feeling like it would explode under the pressure.

"I think that is all for today, Regina." Robin states, once they have perfected a sketch of the piece of jewelry. "Wouldn't you say so Ruby. Your sketches seem complete, yes?"

The girl nods, closes her pad of paper before sliding it into her messenger bag along with her pencils and erasers. "Definitely. You did awesome Regina." The brunette meets her eyes. "Honestly, a lot of the time the people I sketch for, they suppress so much, they can't give me a lot to go on. You really gave me a lot of detail, more than most people do. These sketches will be a lot of help."

She doesn't respond to Ruby, isn't sure she could speak without her voice shaking. The compliment has Regina's eyes misting, a sigh of relief leaving her lungs. She so desperately wants to help. She wants to bring this man to justice. Not only for his brutal attack on her, for the disgusting way he touched her, but for what he did to the others. She never begged, he never raped her, but those other women, Sarah, he made them beg, then he raped and murdered them, took everything away from them, and she hates him mostly for that, for them.

"Well," Ruby clears her throat, moving to stand at Regina's side across from Robin, "I'll get going. I think I'll catch a cab back to the station Robin, hand off my sketches to John, okay?"

"You don't mind?" He questions, standing from his chair, the front of his thighs meeting the edge of her mattress. "It really isn't any trouble driving you."

"No, no, I'll be fine." Ruby replies with another bright white smile. "I have a few errands to run. You stay and chat." The brunette has already circled her bed, and stands only a couple feet from the door before turning completely back toward her and Robin. "It was nice meeting you Regina. Sorry it had to be under these circumstances." Ruby says sheepishly, the only time Regina has seen a hint of shyness displayed from the girl.

"You too Ruby, and," she manages a wide smile for the girl before adding, "Thank you."

* * *

><p>It is just the two of them then. Robin settles back into his chair and glances at his watch, mentions that it is already 11:00 AM and wonders if she would like him to grab a couple sandwiches from the cafe at ground level for lunch. She nods, not eager to be left alone with her hospital mandated entree and jello. He smiles, asks what she likes, and makes a hasty exit with the promise of returning in ten minutes with nourishment and more coffee.<p>

He brings her turkey on whole wheat, loaded with lettuce and tomato. It doesn't escape her notice that she had no appetite yesterday, barely touched anything the hospital staff brought her to eat, but today, somehow this man has her devouring pancakes and sandwiches like her life depends on it, which she supposes, it does. They eat in a comfortable silence. Occasionally he talks about Roland between bites. Robin tells her how his boy is excited for the camping trip, how they don't take vacations often and Roland has talked about nothing else since he told the boy about their trip.

Once they are both satiated, sipping at coffee, he fills her in on some details of her case. "I've been in contact with your deputy Mayor, Miss Swan, and your sister. They are both aware of our strategy moving ahead in the investigation, and have agreed to keep silent about your escape and subsequent rescue." She nods, makes a mental note to call Emma and check on things in the office before being discharged tomorrow.

"Your sister said she would bring your son, and a few bags for each of you tomorrow morning. We'll leave from here and drive directly to the campground."

Regina grimaces, still not entirely sure why she agreed to such an arrangement. Camping, what was she thinking? And the more she thinks about it, swirls it around in her mind, the more irritated she becomes. The ease with which Robin brought about the whole topic yesterday has her suspicious.

"Is it even your favorite place?" She asks, brow furrowing, curiosity mixing with annoyance. Her question catches him off guard, confusion coloring his expression. "The forest," she clarifies, "or was that an elaborate lie?" She questions at his lack of response. "To try and convince me to go with you, to stay under police protection, and participate in this," she waves her hand trying to find the words,"'strategy' of yours?" She had found it odd yesterday when he asked her and Henry to join him and his son camping, peculiar, overly personal for a man she had just met, but now it makes sense, now she is putting the pieces together, and the puzzle is clear. He manipulated her.

His expression shifts from confusion to a mixture of agitation and concern. "Regina, I have not lied to you, nor do I intend to, ever."

"Oh, so it is a common occurrence for you to casually bring up the forest and your love for camping in conversation with complete strangers before inviting them for a family vacation in the woods?" Her voice comes out irritated, laced with sarcasm, and once again she is grateful that the swelling in her face has subsided because her current expression would most certainly be painful otherwise.

"Of course not." He is exasperated, defensive, until he takes a deep breath and releases a sigh. "I admit," he begins calmly, "when the topic came up yesterday, it seemed like a convenient way to get you to agree to police protection and going into hiding. Honestly," he smiles tightly before continuing, "I suppose I hoped my charm would have you agreeing, rather than having to force the idea on you, but I never once lied to you." His expression is earnest as he continues, "The forest IS my favorite place, has been since I was a boy, and I do think you and your boy will benefit from the relaxation, the time away, time to heal. It is far better than a safehouse Regina, and that is all my department was willing to offer you."

"You really think you are charming don't you?" She asks, his honest confession warming the cold agitation that had been thrumming through her veins, and she can feel herself folding, feel herself smile regardless of whether she actually wants to. "Well, I hate to be the one to tell you otherwise." Her smile pulls into a wide grin, lips sliding past teeth, and she can't restrain it, can't hold back, especially not when he returns it tenfold.

"Then don't." He replies, any tension leaving the atmosphere between them. "It is already an injury to my ego that you initially declined."

Her face scrunches as she asks, "Did you really expect me to accept?"

He chuckles, a light sound, airy. "Not really. I knew it was a bit of an overstep, but truthfully, part of me hoped you found me charming enough to agree."

"Well, I suppose part of me did," she blushes slightly with the admittance, then corrects, "_does_ find you agreeable. However, I'm quite certain its the accent." She straightens her shoulders, slips on that mayor's mask, suddenly uncomfortable with her lack of discretion.

He laughs, but not at her. No, it is a kind laugh, he does not find humor at her, but in her, and agrees with, "Most likely the accent, yes."

That is when Henry rolls in like a storm, dominating the entire atmosphere of the room. Her mind immediately falls away from the fascinating detective across from her, instead embracing her son in the tightest hug she can muster, with her wrist casted and her muscles still sore. He hadn't even noticed her face, her bruises, just ran straight to her comforting arms, and she breathes him in, inhales the scent that is her boy and only her boy. When she looks up she spots Zelena in the doorway. Her sister and Robin greet each other briefly before he turns her direction again, sending her a bright smile full of those dimples, and a gentle wave as he leaves her to reconnect with her family. Her mind wanders to when she might see him again before her focus is pulled, consumed completely by her son and sister.

"So," Zelena begins, lowering to occupy the chair Robin had so recently vacated, and Regina briefly wonders whether it is still warm, still retains some of the heat from his body, "camping?" The amused expression on her sister's face has Regina rolling her eyes, squeezing Henry tighter before placing a kiss to his mop of hair.

"Camping?" Henry says excitedly before pulling back, finally looking at her, really looking at her. He tilts his head to the side, his lips turned down in a thin line while his little hand lifts to her cheek, and he caresses the darkened flesh softly before asking, "does it hurt, Mom?"

"Not so bad anymore Henry." She smiles, doesn't want him to see her weak, see her hurting. She needs to protect him, be strong for him, so she switches the topic to camping once again. "Would you like to go camping?"

He accepts the change of subject like only a child can, lips switching from frown to wide smile with no resistance. "Yes!" he practically shouts. "Mom, I know you said camping isn't anything special, but my friends go every summer, and they have these great stories, and it sounds like so much fun. Can we go Mom, please, pleeeaaase! When school starts again, _I _could be the one with stories to tell!"

She laughs, and she thinks it might be the first true, full laugh that has left her lips since she woke up two days ago. "Yes Henry. Yes, we can. That man that was just here,"

"Detective Robin?" Henry interrupts.

"Yes." She feels her brows furrow in confusion before asking, "You've met him?"

Henry nods, explains, "When he came to the house to talk to Aunt Zelena."

"Of course," she says, smiles at her boy, his sweet face she has missed so much, "well, he and his son go camping sometimes and have invited us to join them. How does that sound?"

"Great!" Henry states resolutely. "No offence Mom, but camping alone with you would kind of be scary. I don't think you would know what to do." She gasps, a defensive expression blanketing her face while Henry smiles up at her with those big eyes.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." She responds sarcastically before Zelena's voice draws their attention.

"Henry, would you mind running to the vending machine for me?" Zelena asks. "I know you were eyeing up the peanut butter cups, and I could really use a soda."

"Sure." Henry states, walking around the hospital bed, accepting a few dollar bills from his Aunt then bouncing from the room.

* * *

><p>"What did you tell him?" Regina asks her sister when she is sure Henry is far from earshot. "I mean, what does he know?"<p>

Zelena releases a tired sigh. "I only told him that you had been hurt, and were staying at the hospital. I didn't know what you would want him to know, but he had a lot of questions Regina. He is a smart boy, and I was able to keep him at bay the last couple days, but now, now that he has you back." Her sister looks toward the door, then back, blue eyes meeting brown. "He is going to want answers."

"I know." Regina responds, and she really does. Her boy is curious, always has been, eager for explanations to anything and everything.

"What will you tell him?" The redhead asks, concern knitting her brow.

"The truth of course." Regina responds as if it is obvious. "I mean," she sighs, brings her hand to pinch the space between her eyes where she can feel a migraine brewing, "I never want him to know any details, but he _does_ need to know the truth of what happened. I won't lie to him. I made that mistake once." Regina can still remember the month that passed after Henry found out about his adoption. She had always planned on telling him, but at the right time, whatever that meant. Unfortunately, he beat her to it, and he refused to call her 'Mom' for a whole month, refused to talk to her at all, and once he finally warmed up again, when she apologized profusely, and made promises never to lie to him again, well, she meant it. She keeps her promises.

"Well," Zelena says, a lightness to the tone of her voice, "I can think of worse things than being stuck in the woods with that stud of a man." The redhead smirks, clearly referring to the detective, and Regina can't really argue with that, just laughs and shakes her head at her sister's antics.

"You are forgetting Sis." Regina clarifies,"We'll be stuck in the woods - along with two children. This is not a romantic getaway. Far from it." Her voice is strong, words concise as she speaks, and she aims to make it clear that this is about the investigation and nothing more. She wonders if it his Zelena she is trying to convince or herself.

"I know." Her sister acquiesces, the other woman's face growing serious while scrutinizing Regina's face. "Regina, if you need to talk," Zelena pauses briefly, clears her throat, "you know I am here right? Always." Growing up, her relationship with this woman was anything but cordial. Her little sister was always a thorn in her side, and Zelena stopped at nothing to irritate, torture, and ridicule Regina constantly. When she had gone off to college, when their father had died, they grew closer, stopped the constant feuding, and set aside their differences. She is grateful for Zelena now, something she never thought possible.

"I know," Regina states, "and if I need an ear, I'll let you know, but as it is," she releases another deep sigh, trying to let all the stress leave her body along with the air, "I've been talking about all of this much more than I would like to."

"Of course," Zelena nods, "a lot of questions, huh? But isn't it only going to be worse if you're sequestered on a camping trip with the lead detective?"

Regina scoffs, already knows it will get worse, or at least, she'll need to recollect her ordeal often for the sake of the investigation. "Most likely. I'm sure we'll have to go over my account of events numerous times, but, Detective Locksley is good at what he does, he doesn't make recounting the events daunting. I mean, it will always be difficult. I doubt it will ever be easy. In fact, I would worry if it was, but he seems to know when I need a break from the subject, years of training I suppose."

"Yeah, must be." Zelena nods again, concern still evident on her features. "Well, I'm glad you'll be in good hands, but I'll miss you. I was scared Regina, so scared, and then when Detective Locksley showed up a few days ago, when I opened the door," the redhead pauses, takes a deep breath, "Regina, I was so certain you were dead, but then he said they had found you, alive, but not awake yet. I," her sister is practically in tears, the wetness coating her vibrant blue eyes, just starting to topple passed her lower lashes. She releases a deep sigh, then says, "well, nevermind. Why dwell on the past."

Regina leans forward, the ache in her abdomen a little less today, the cracked ribs healing well, and she settles her hand on Zelena's arm, a comforting touch, and in the next moment, her sister has her in a solid embrace. Zelena's body shifts from the chair to the bed beside Regina, and the other woman sits there, right hip meeting Regina's, and long arms wrap tightly around her neck, hands cradling the back of her head while Zelena releases a few small sobs, emotions impossible to contain any longer.

"I love you Regina." It is a quiet confession, but holds more meaning than anything her sister has ever said to her. They have never said those words, and Regina is almost positive that she hated her sister when they grew up, actually hated her, but now, now things are different.

"I love you too, Zelena." Tears sting her eyes, and she feels overwhelmed, feels like a foundation cracking from the weight of caring for others, the weight of trying to stay strong.

Henry returns a moment later, just as the two of them are drying their eyes, Zelena back in her chair. His mouth is full of a peanut butter cup, and his hands carrying another candy bar and a soda. Candy Regina seldom allows in their house, but this is one of those days, and she surmises, this isn't their house anyway. She even takes a bite of the hershey bar her boy offers, listens to him tell her how they'll have to buy several for their camping trip, how they'll make s'mores and tell stories. She laughs and smiles, pushes any thoughts of the nightmare lingering in her mind aside, and basks in the joy of her son and the anticipation of their camping trip.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Very sorry for the long wait on this one. My muse was not cooperating with it, but I spent the departing and returning flight of my vacation dedicated to getting this chapter finished, and ready for you. Thanks so much for sticking with this story, and be sure to pester me if I make you wait too long. It helps me write. This chapter was just frustrating, but I think it worked out okay. Enjoy!_**

She feels fresh this morning, strong, and she revels in the feeling, holds it close, because she is about to go camping, and she is certain she won't feel so fresh and strong once she finds herself completely out of her element. It is almost 2:00 in the afternoon. Zelena should be here with Henry soon, and Regina finds that her hands won't stop smoothing over the nonexistent creases in her clothing. She wants to look presentable, wants to look strong, for Henry, for herself.

Everything is gathered, all the possessions she was found with, any that haven't been confiscated for the investigation, have been returned to her by the hospital. There isn't much. She sits in the chair beside the window anxiously trying to powder away the bruise encircling her left eye. Her face looks better this morning. The swelling and puffiness have gone, leaving behind a purple smuttering of skin, but even that looks better today, less harsh. The cut just beneath her eyebrow continues to heal well, and the pain meds are handling the rest, from her broken wrist to her cracked ribs.

"It's blue." Robin's masculine voice pulls her from the reflection in the compact mirror, drawing her eyes upward, to the door, where he stands in the frame. "Your cast," he elaborates when her only response is a confused tilt of the head and a quick snapping shut of the compact, "it is blue today."

"Oh," she says, shakes her head and places the small mirror back into the purse resting beside her. "Yes, it's Henry's favorite color. They had to recast it today, now that the swelling is gone, and I requested blue." She holds the cast up, a small smile playing on her lips before she drops the injured wrist back to her lap, meeting his eyes.

"I see," he states, his lips curving into a smirk, "well, the color is lovely on you." The smirk widens into a full fledged smile, dimples on display, and she briefly wonders what about that smile makes her feel so warm, so tranquil.

"So," she starts as he moves to sit at the edge of the hospital bed in front of her, "camping?"

"You don't have anything to worry about Regina." He states reassuringly. "We won't be roughing it too much, I promise, and you'll be safe, both you and Henry."

She responds with a curt nod, worry evident on her face regardless of his reassuring words.

"I heard you refused to speak with Dr. Hopper." He is looking down, straight to his feet, his brown boots against the cold hospital floor. She looks at him in surprise, surprise that quickly moves to irritation.

"I don't see how that is any of your business Detective Locksley." She does not want to discuss this, does not want to talk about Dr. Hopper and his annoying questions, sympathetic glances. She does not need to talk to that man about her problems. She's fine. She's a survivor.

Robin lifts his gaze to her eyes, meeting her head on, and she can tell he is contemplating, unsure of what to say, not wanting to overstep, but something pushes him onward, makes him bold. "It is only my concern because your doctor did not feel comfortable releasing you until you spoke to Dr. Hopper," he says plainly, calmly, and his ability to stay level headed aggravates her even more, "and I am eager to get you out of here before your presence is discovered and our entire investigation strategy becomes worthless." He sighs then, his hand rubs against his forehead briefly before sliding back through his hair. "Look Regina. I am not trying to tell you what to do, but in my personal experience, talking helps."

"I guess it's good I have you forcing me to vocalize every detail then." Her face is stern, but her eyes betray her. The brown depths clearly show how vulnerable she feels with this man, this detective. He smiles tightly, almost a grimace, nods his head, and lets the subject drop. For now, but not before making a request, asking her for the second time to please call him Robin, that he'd much prefer it. She nods, acquiesces, figures it will be easier if she'll be spending several days in the woods with the man and their sons.

"Will Henry be here soon?" He questions, pulling her from her thoughts.

"Yes." Regina pushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear, standing while she pulls her purse to her shoulder. "My sister said she would have him here by two."

He grins, bites his lower lip while glancing at his watch, and asks, "would you care to grab a bite to eat before they arrive?"

She nods in the affirmative, follows Robin through the hospital door, and down the short hallway to the elevator. "What about your son? Roland. Where is he?"

"We'll pick up my boy on the way." He says as they step onto the elevator, his palm firmly placed against her back as he guides her. "He is visiting with his grandparents right now, and their home is on the way to our campsite."

They eat sandwiches, well, he does, Regina doesn't have much of an appetite, but she sips at a coffee, tells him how miserable it is here in the hospital, and how she can't wait to get some quality food and beverages once they leave this place. Henry arrives with Zelena a few minutes after they return to her room, and the smile that he greets her with has her own lips curving, her eyes warming. She ignores the whispered words between her sister and the detective, can't help but overhear a hushed, 'take care of my sister', and it warms her heart as much as it frustrates her. She can take care of herself, always has. There's never been anyone to do it for her.

Henry and her talk, he comments on her cast, asks to sign it, and she knows soon he'll stop placating her, soon he'll start asking real questions, but he is observant, wise for his age, and he knows she isn't ready just yet. Something she very much appreciates because she still isn't sure how much to share with him.

Robin pulls up his vehicle for them, a large suburban, and it has her wondering just how far 'off the grid' they are going, but he alleviates her nerves, repeats that it really isn't far from civilization.

She calls Miss Swan while they drive, checks in at the Mayor's office, and Emma assures her everything is handled, no one knows that she has resurfaced, and they will be fine until she can return. The deputy mayor tells her to take care of herself, and it makes her smile, has a small grin on her face as she hangs up the phone because at least someone thinks she can take care of herself.

"How long do you think you can keep my presence under wraps?" She questions Robin, sliding her cell phone into her bag, and chancing a peek to the back seat where Henry is actively engaged on his tablet. A lovely sight, her son, her happy healthy son, and she beams because she never thought she'd see him again, didn't think she'd get the chance.

"I hope as long as we need to." Robin states, switching on a blinker, and slowing to turn onto a gravel road. The action has her grin disappearing, has a scowl pulling at her features because she can't help but picture the last gravel road she was on, the gravel that dug into her bare feet, her bare knees. "This guy is going to be less cautious if he doesn't know you're alive and aiding with the investigation."

She clears her throat, grips the door handle, nails digging into hard gray, and Robin hasn't noticed her discomfort so she tones it down, breathes slowly, and asks, "You aren't worried about a leak," she breaths, "from the hospital staff, or from your own department?"

He looks her way, and she bites her tongue, grits her teeth, tries to pull the mayor's mask to her features, but she fails. Her breathing is fast regardless of her efforts, her knuckles white, and then he is reaching over, his hand landing on the fist she has tightly snugged to her thigh in her seat. She has to keep it together, can't let Henry see her break down, but she forgets about the mask, forgets about hiding anything from the man beside her.

"No." He says calmly, his voice a tether from her memories, pulling her back, chasing away the phantoms of a week ago. "If a leak was going to come from anyone at the hospital it would have happened by now. As far as my department, well, I am leading the investigation and the only others aware of your involvement are Ruby, who you met the other day, my partner John, and my sergeant." His hand tightens around hers and her fingers loosen from a tight fist, limp in his hand, in his comforting grasp.

It can't be much longer that they drive on that road before they turn into a driveway, a large house coming into view surrounded by trees. It is beautiful, beautiful but secluded, and Regina finds the thought of staying at this place lovely, wonders why she agreed to camping rather than shelling out money for a hotel, but then she sees a little boy with shaggy brown hair running in the yard, thinks of Henry's excitement, and she knows she made the right decision. Even if it does mean losing some of her own comfort.

Robin is attractive. it is something she noticed the first moment she met him, but Roland, his son, well, Roland is the cutest thing she's laid eyes on in a long time. His deep dimples, big brown eyes, and unruly curls make her want to wrap him up tight in an embrace and not let go. He is the definition of adorable, and when he introduces himself, tells her she's pretty and that he can't wait to play with Henry, well, her heart almost bursts.

The drive from Roland's grandparents house to the actual campsite is short, shorter than Regina imagined, even though Robin had told her as much. They must have only driven a couple minutes before veering onto a narrow path through the trees. By the time the foliage thins, they find themselves at a stop, Roland and Henry are anxiously bouncing in their seats.

Regina nearly finds herself doing the same because the beauty that lays in front of her is not what she was expecting. There is a lake in the distance, not too far, with a brown beach muddled with pebbles and rocks. Trees and shrubs are thinned out all around and there is a large space with logs set into a circular pattern, a dark fire pit in the center. But what really draws her eye, what has her throat catching and a smile pulling at her lips is the small wooden structure to the right.

"A cabin?" Her voice is questioning, surprise evident in her tone.

Robin smirks, that irritating, frustrating, handsome smirk. "I told you it wouldn't be so bad." He shifts to get out of the vehicle, opens the door for Henry and Roland while she slowly steps from the suburban, her black boots meeting the dirt and beaten down grass.

"Daddy and me built it together." Roland calls as he grips Regina's hand, and she hadn't even noticed he was there beside her until he was lacing his little fingers into hers, tugging at her arm.

"You mean 'Daddy and I' dear, and that is very impressive." She glances toward Henry who is walking with Robin just behind them, and he gives her a roll of the eyes, then smiles at her, says something about her and grammar. She smiles brightly at him, then turns back toward the young boy beside her. "How long did it take you?"

"A long time Gina," he declares, his eyes big and serious, "so long!"

"It took one summer Roland." Robin interrupts, steps in line next to them while Henry picks up pace and reaches the door to the dwelling. "It wasn't _that _long." He side glances at her, bites his lower lip, and the action has her eyeing those lips, wondering what they would feel like on her skin, before she shakes off the thought, heat rising in her cheeks. She brushes it off, tells herself the attraction she feels to him is simply a byproduct of the situation they are in, her entire ordeal, and reminds herself that she finds Detective Locksley as irritating as she does handsome.

The boy shrugs, then drops Regina's hand to grab for Henry's instead, pulling him forward, "Come on Henry. I'll show you."

"I don't know if you can really call this camping." She voices with a raised eyebrow, watching the two boys move through the door.

"Well, Roland and I usually pitch a tent and sleep outside, but if the weather gets bad it is always nice to have the cabin as a back up. It's small, one tiny bedroom, but there is a small bathroom, and a stove." He gestures for her to walk ahead of him before continuing. "It has been unseasonably cold out, and I figured you would appreciate the roof over your head."

"You were right," and she is certain the grin on her face is audible in her voice. This is far better than what she'd expected, far more comfortable than a sleeping bag on the cold, hard ground, "but don't underestimate me. I would be just fine 'roughing it'."

"I don't doubt that Regina," he says in reply, stepping beside her into the cozy space, his hand meeting the small of her back, "not for a minute."

They tour the small cabin, and Robin had not been exaggerating. It is small, very small, but Regina could care less about the size, and finds great relief in the indoor plumbing. The small room holds a bunk bed and she can imagine Robin and Roland spending the night wrapped up in the warm quilts neatly tucked on the mattresses. She feels a clench of doubt when she realizes they will have to sort out sleeping arrangements, but her mind quickly leaves the topic as they step out the back door of the little dwelling.

There is a deck, a large deck that overlooks a view of the lake separated by trees. The towering oaks have been thinned back here to provide a clear view of the water, a walkable path, and it is truly a beautiful sight, has Regina taking a deep breath, her gaze pinned to the shimmering water. A yelp from Henry draws her attention from the natural beauty to her son's excitement.

He wants to go swimming, and fishing, and can they please, please, but it is already late in the afternoon, a chill starting to settle in the air. Robin is the one to disappoint, explains to the boys that they have a lot to do before nightfall, so they need to get to work, unpack, and prepare dinner. There will be plenty of time for swimming and fishing tomorrow.

The three of them move back inside with the intention of bringing in the bags, leaving Regina alone on the deck. She takes another moment to observe her surroundings, lets the calmness of the environment soothe her anxiety, anxiety she is sure will never be completely relieved. She can hear Henry and Roland chatting and laughing loudly inside the cabin, and she pulls her cell from the pocket of her jacket, finds that Robin was right. It does feel secluded out here, but she has service, and that is comforting.

They spend the next couple hours bringing in their belongings and sorting out sleeping arrangements. The boys will take the bunks, she will have the couch, and Robin will sleep on the floor in his sleeping bag. It feels funny to her, peculiar, because everything seems so natural. They all get along well, Robin and her fix dinner together, her chopping vegetables, while he sautes and simmers at the stove, and it has Regina smiling most of the evening, her mind drawing away from the events of the last two weeks. She even finds she can tolerate Robin's smug attitude, his arrogant smirks, as long as Roland and Henry are there to distract her.

Once the boys are tucked into their respective beds in the small bedroom, the sun long set, and darkness seeping all around the cabin, the demons return, tug at her mind. Robin must notice it, must sense her withdraw, because he lights a fire in the wood burning hearth, provides her with as much light and warmth as the dwelling can offer, before joining her on the brown leather sofa, two drinks in his hands.

"Scotch?" He sets it in her hands before she can respond, less of a question, more of an offer, an offer she gladly accepts. She probably shouldn't indulge. She is in discomfort, a dull painful sensation throughout her body ever since their arrival. Her healing ribs ache, and she feels stiff, heavy limbed. She is due for her pain medication, and she knows she shouldn't mix it with alcohol, but right now, the smoky aroma and promise of dulled nerves has her lifting the glass to her lips.

It is smooth, strong, and it burns her throat with the first sip, but the second and third send a pleasing warmth through her veins, a relaxation. "Thank you."

He looks at her, nods, says your welcome, but she is certain he has no idea what she really means when she says those words. She is not just thanking him for the drink, not even for the place to stay or the protection during the investigation. She is thanking him for everything, for it all, for being the only person to hear her story thus far, and making her feel safe, making it not as frightening. She is thanking him for saying her name, for calling her Regina, and being the first person who said it without it drawing her back to that man, to his voice whispering it in her ear like he owned it, like he owned her.

She thought she would fear the woods, fear coming to this place, but since they have been out here, the only thing that has frightened her, the only thing that has pulled forth overwhelming memories has been that gravel road, and the darkness of night. Something about these woods is almost comforting rather than frightening, safe rather than horrifying. It does pull at her memories, but it reminds her of her escape, of adrenaline, of running, and breathing, of fresh air. She tells him as much, swirls the brown liquid in her glass while she speaks, and she can't understand why she feels so comfortable talking with him, reminds herself he has been trained to listen. That must be it.

"You thought this place would remind you of what happened, of your escape?" He asks, inquisitive gaze pinned to her face.

"That's just it." She meets his eyes, furrows her brow as she tries to explain, tries to place words to her feelings "They do. They remind me of my escape, of the fear I felt, the adrenaline, my heart racing and feet burning as I ran and kept running. But, I don't mind it, I, I find I want to remember that, I, it helps to remember that." She sips at her scotch, bites her lips and narrows her eyes as she continues speaking.

"When I was at the hospital, a nurse closed my door that first night I was awake, and it reminded me of that cell, and the chains, and being trapped, and I hated it, I hate remembering that place, and every time one of the staff would speak my name I would hear his voice whispering it in my ear, but out here, in the woods, I'm only reminded of when I survived, when I escaped, when I ran too far for him to put his hands on me again, and the way his head looked colliding with that branch." She looks his way again, realization dawning on her before she glances down to her hand laying beside his on the couch between them. "Dark, huh?" She sips from the tumbler, focusing on the heat of the liquid sliding down her throat.

"No." He shakes his head, sympathy in his blue eyes. "Not dark. You are a survivor Regina. What you've been through, what he did to you, none of it is who you are. He doesn't control you. You took the power from him. He'll never hurt you again."

She scoffs, swirls the brown liquid in her glass, then lifts her finger to gesture toward her face. "Yes, but I'll have a lasting memory everytime I look in the mirror." The gash beneath her eyebrow will scar. It might be small, hardly noticeable, but it will always be there, a reminder.

He is watching her intently, and she fights the urge to cower under his attention. His hand lifts, and she almost flinches, almost shivers at the contact when his thumb lands on her lip, his other fingers beneath her chin. The touch is gentle, like a feather gliding across her skin. He is touching the scar present there, exploring the groove in her lip, and as their eyes meet, her heart beats a little faster. She isn't sure how long they sit like that, but eventually he blinks, clears his throat, and drops his hand before asking, "How did you get that scar?"

She smiles, moves her own fingers to the indentation on her upper lip, and she can still feel the phantom of his touch, a tingling sensation tickling her senses. She tells herself it's the scotch, the alcohol affecting both of them, even if they have yet to finish a glass. "I fell," she smiles wider, her hand falling back to the sofa between them, grazing his thigh in the process, "off a horse."

"What!" He exclaims, and he had clearly not expected that, his shocked reaction bringing a chuckle from her mouth before he asks, "What happened?"

"I was just a girl. Six I think. My father was teaching me the basics of riding. He loved to ride. And well, my horse took off, really it was only a pony, a tiny little thing, but I slid right off of her, and," she gestures toward her lip again, "I'm not even sure how it happened. I didn't feel it at first, didn't notice it until my father came running over to me, and I saw the blood on his hand, tasted it then. My mother was not amused when she came home."

He smiles, asks her if she still rides, and she tells him the truth, tells him she hasn't found herself on a horse since someone very important to her had been thrown and died from a neck injury. He nods, remains silent, and she is certain he would like her to elaborate, but she won't. She has shared enough tragedy with this man, recalled enough horror. She doesn't want to add Daniel to any of this, not yet anyway.

"My turn to ask a question." She lifts her chin, and he smiles, nods in response, takes a sip of his own drink and almost chokes on the amber colored liquid when she smooths a finger across the exposed skin just above his shirt collar, sliding her finger along a thin white line marring his flesh. A smug smirk pulls at her lips, and she welcomes the knowledge that he is not unaffected by her touch. It is only fair since she has felt the same at every brush of contact between them. "You have a scar here, how did you get it?" She lets her hand slowly fall between them again, lets it land next to his jean clad thigh once more, and settles into the warmth she is feeling whether it is from his presence or the drink she has almost emptied.

He tells her about climbing a tree as a boy, falling, and that he has a half dozen similar scars covering his body from the branches slicing flesh. She vaguely wonders where they are, what they look like, but he looks like under the fabric of his clothing, and then she is leaning her head against the back of the sofa, resting there as he smiles at her and takes the empty glass from her hand.

"I think you could use some sleep." His says as his lips pull up into a warm smile. "I'll get you a pillow and some blankets." He stands, walks to a closet, and by the time she is laid back on the sofa, nestled in a cocoon of blankets, her eyes won't stay open, and it is the first time since she escaped that she isn't afraid, does not fear that she'll close her eyes, and wake back up in that cell, wake up in that nightmare, wake up with that man. She drifts off looking at the fire, feeling the warmth, calmed by Robin's silhouette on the floor.

_**Okay, I hope it was worth the wait. I'm trying to balance the attraction between these two because obviously Regina just went through a very traumatic ordeal, and I don't think he would want to take advantage of her, nor would she be ready to pursue anything...yet ;) Hopefully they'll cooperate with me better for the next chapter and it won't take so long. As always, let me know what you think. I love hearing from you guys :) **_


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